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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25097923">i am made of memories</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallenidol_453/pseuds/fallenidol_453'>fallenidol_453</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Dragon Prophecy - Mercedes Lackey &amp; James Mallory</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dealing with the after-effects of memory suppression, Don't copy to another site, Gen, Going through memories, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 06:01:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>921</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25097923</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallenidol_453/pseuds/fallenidol_453</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>All of his memories were still there in his head. No traces of the spell that had suppressed them remained. But they could have been altered without his consent or knowledge during the last decade. Slowly, as if unrolling an ancient and fragile scroll line by line, Harwing goes through a lifetime of memories.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gunedwaen/Harwing Lightbrother</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>i am made of memories</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I do not own the Dragon Prophecy trilogy. All rights belong to Mercedes Lackey and James Mallory. Any mistakes to canon in here is entirely my fault.</p><p>Fic title is shamelessly borrowed from The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Once his duties in the Sanctuary of the Star are completed for the day, Harwing goes straight to his sleeping cell and locks the door. It would be easier to use one of the meditation rooms, but what he needed to do was risky. There was a chance someone could read his thoughts. Laying down upon his bedroll, he relaxed his body and mind, entering a deep, meditative trance.</p><p>All of his memories were still there in his head. No traces of the spell that had suppressed them remained. But they could have been altered without his consent or knowledge during the last decade. Slowly, as if unrolling an ancient and fragile scroll line by line, Harwing goes through a lifetime of memories.</p><p>Childhood. His world had been limited to the stables and pastures of War Prince Thoromarth’s castel, helping his mother care for their lord’s beloved horses. He was forbidden to ride them, but he was responsible enough to lead them to and from the pastures and the stables. He had never known his father, and his mother never spoke of him.</p><p>No alterations. He sets them aside.</p><p>Midwinter of his twelfth year. The Storysinger of long ago had sung of <em>The Song of Pelashia’s Gift</em>, and Eiron Lightbrother had Called the Light to see who among the castel children would be a Candidate to go to the Sanctuary of the Star. He and three others had been selected.</p><p>No alterations. He sets them aside.</p><p>The Sanctuary of the Star. He had served his Service Year with no complaints, and with only minor brushes with Mistress Maeredhiel’s wrath. His Gift had awakened, and using the Light had been—was <em>still</em> like—galloping upon the fastest destrier on an open plain, the wind whipping through his hair, feeling unadulterated joy and freedom without a care for the world.</p><p>He had dared the Shrine as a Postulant, spooked by his vision but speaking of it to no one. When he had donned his green robe, Lord Thoromarth had been generous and allowed him to return home to Oronviel and serve him as Harwing Lightbrother.</p><p>That and the next few centuries he set aside. They were inconsequential and mostly the same; it was all serving Oronviel and being part of its rises and falls as client to House Caerthalien.</p><p>The Harvest Court Vieliessar Farcarinon had upended everyone’s lives and set the course of history toward the Fall of the Hundred Houses. Dizzying change and the gradual upheaval of custom and order that had held the <em>alfajodthi</em> chained for uncounted centuries. Harwing had believed in Vieliessar’s cause and swore fealty to her, and had met—</p><p>No. Not yet. He would save his memories of his beloved for last. If not, he would never leave them. Heart aching, he set them aside.</p><p>The start of War Season. Vieliessar’s swift and at times brutal campaign to bring the Hundred Houses under her banner. The formation of the War Hunt, a cadre of Lightborn he had joined. Being a diplomat for the first and only time after the fall of House Mangiralas. He could <em>still</em> feel the hard wood of the tent pole he had hit his forehead on as he had fled the tent.</p><p>Finding Celephriandullias-Tildorangelor.</p><p>Shieldwall Plain.</p><p>Gunedwaen—</p><p>
  <em>DON’T THINK—</em>
</p><p>Memories intact. He pushed them aside. It wasn’t time to think yet.</p><p>The decade after Vieliessar’s victory. Setting out with the remains of the War Hunt to aid Houses Daroldan and Amrolion. Leaving his comrades behind to go undercover at the Sanctuary of the Star, telling them he would send a message, and swearing to them that they would not believe him dead until they saw his body upon the funeral pyre.</p><p>He had gotten his audience with Hamphuliadiel Astromancer after sneaking in. His cover story had been foolproof.</p><p>The memories… stopped there. And now Harwing knew why. His Keystone Gift did not leave him immune to the trickery of other Lightborn, and someone had taken control of his mind and sealed his memories. He had been a mindless and content servant for the last decade, until something else—something <em>powerful</em>—had removed the spell on him and restored his forcibly suppressed memories.</p><p>Nothing had been altered or destroyed.</p><p>Almost nothing.</p><p>Slowly, he eased into his memories of Gunedwaen. His days learning spycraft and helping him ferret out spies in the early days of Lord Vieliessar’s tenure as War Prince of Oronviel. The joyful realization of being heart-twins. The empty, gaping wound Gunedwaen’s sacrifice and death had left behind. The raw wound had been forced to scab over with the suppression of his memories, but it still slowly bled out. It wouldn’t heal until he passed away.</p><p>Reluctantly, Harwing pulled himself away. Nothing—absolutely nothing—had been altered or destroyed. He could mourn and honor his beloved later, to make up for the decade of being forced to forget him.</p><p>For now, he had to plan carefully to kill the Astromancer.</p><p>Gunedwaen had given his life killing Ivrulion Lightbrother, who had been so thoroughly corrupted with ambition and hatred that his spellwork upon Shieldwall Plain had nearly spelled doom to Lord Vieliessar and everyone else on the battlefield. No one had been spared from that baneful and malignant spell, not even his own allies.</p><p>Hamphuliadiel Astromancer was a man cut from the very same cloth. And he was still alive.</p><p>Harwing didn’t care very much if he had to give his life up to kill the Astromancer. He welcomed it. Anything to see Gunedwaen again.</p>
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